


counterattack

by Anonymous



Category: HiGH&LOW (Movies), HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 20:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15871089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The only questions they ask are the ones which already have answers.





	counterattack

Murayama falls on him like an avalanche, stomps down on his chest hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. There’s a moment where Norihisa gasps and finds nothing, flails his arms instinctively in an attempt to regain his lost balance and meets only empty space. Then it passes, leaving him bruised and shivering on the floor, _wanting_.

 

-

 

There’s a festival going on somewhere down a couple of blocks over – Norihisa can’t remember exactly where, but he isn’t particularly in the mood to join in anyway, so he curls into a more comfortable position and wraps his coat tighter around himself. He misses the bitter taste of smoke and alcohol on his tongue.

_You’ve gone soft_ , Ranmaru had said. He was right, in a sense; Norihisa no longer shreds skin off his knuckles every day, desperate to burn with something other than his own shame and helplessness. He’s thrown himself at walls time and time again, grabbed the throats of the cowards hiding behind them, but when the sun sets and he closes his eyes he dreams of crimson red, billowing jackets, voices that all sound familiar to him.

“Oi, bedtime already?”

Norihisa knows this voice too. “Shut up,” he growls half-heartedly, hauling himself up and crossing his legs. “What do you want now?”

Murayama rocks back onto his heels, looking pleased. “Happened to be in the area,” he says, holding up his bruised fist.

“You beat my guys, I beat you.”

“Come and try it.” Murayama doesn’t seem particularly fazed by the threat, which isn’t unexpected; Norihisa hadn’t put much effort into it either. They stare each other down for a minute while Norihisa logs the new bags under Murayama’s eyes, the slender line of his neck. “Hey, Hyuga-chan. Since I’m here already, wanna show me around?”

Norihisa snorts. Murayama only asks him questions he already knows the answer to. “You gonna pay me for it?”

“Mm…” Murayama flashes him a quick, sharp grin. “I’ll think about it, if you’re good.”

 

They find a small, run-down restaurant tucked just around the corner of the main street. The rich aromas of oil and burning meat make Murayama’s nose twitch when he catches them. “I wanna go here,” he declares, tugging on Norihisa’s sleeve. Norihisa watches him bound along the road, bowing to the old woman adjusting the sign outside before strolling in like he’s a regular. Murayama ducks his head back out after a moment, flapping his hands impatiently for Norihisa to follow. It’s a strangely endearing gesture, coupled with the intent expression on his face, and Norihisa finds himself slipping into a smile without even trying.

The shopfront has been boarded up in several places, shards of broken glass scattered on the ground crunching under his feet as he walks. It bears the hallmarks of a well-loved local haunt – deep scars from countless punch-ups and rough attempts at rebuilding just enough to keep the building standing. Norihisa presses his hand to the doorframe as he enters and feels it splinter under his touch.

 

“You’re slow, aren’t you,” complains Murayama, when Norihisa finally joins him at the table. The waitress bows deeply to them both, staring wide-eyed at Norihisa until he raises a questioning eyebrow at her. He takes one of the menus silently and lets Murayama’s indignant voice wash over him.

“Quit your whining.” He’s still tired, but some part of him was shaken wide awake at Murayama’s appearance, and it nags at him incessantly, cataloguing how Murayama picks at his sleeves when he orders, worries at his lip while they wait. Norihisa considers saying something, but the two of them have never worked like that; Norihisa is more accustomed to the response than the call, and neither know a better form of communication than their fists.

It’s helplessness of a different sort than he burnt to ash during his incarceration. The thought makes him huff out a laugh. Murayama’s head snaps up at the sound, and a faint look of wonder crosses his face before he shakes his head and rests his elbows on the table, some of the tension seeping out of his shoulders. He must kick his legs out, too, because his calf brushes against Norihisa’s. They both freeze for a moment before Murayama quirks his lips and slowly, deliberately, pushes his knee against Norihisa and keeps it there, looking up at him from under his bandana in challenge.

Norihisa bares his teeth and kicks back. This, he knows. This, he can do. Watching the slight smile on Murayama’s lips blossoms into a full beam, Norihisa knows he would do it, over and over again, as many times as they ran up against the other gangs knowing they’d only be beaten back; he’d do it as many times as Murayama asked, simply because it was him asking.

 

Their grill burns too hot and the drink is still a couple of years too young.

“You can’t just leave your meat there on the side like that,” Murayama says, snapping his chopsticks in frustration. He leans over the grill and the strings of his hoodie dangle so close to the metal Norihisa almost thinks they might actually catch fire. “They’ll never cook. Haven’t you ever been to this sort of restaurant before?”

“Shut up and eat,” Norihisa growls, for lack of anything better to say. Activity begins to stir in the corner of his vision; he holds up a hand to quell the unease that Murayama’s casual provocation has incited.

At this stage, there’s nothing to be gained from fighting Oya High. Rather, there’s a part of him that breathes easier like this, pulled along on whatever flight of fancy Murayama has his mind set on. He prods at his meat absently, half-tempted to skip the pointless waiting and risk the food poisoning, but Murayama catches his expression and seizes his wrist with a vicelike grip. “Two minutes,” he promises, and although Norihisa has little experience with barbecues he is far more familiar with waiting, so he clicks his tongue and settles back into his seat with only a token attempt at resistance.

Satisfied, Murayama turns back to his own plate. His eyes light up when he eats; he inhales rice like he’s starving, and although Norihisa watches him idly, he suspects he’s more captured by the scene than he’d like to admit. When he finishes, he claps his hands together loud enough to startle the waitress hovering a few metres away.

“Two minutes,” he repeats, taking the now-charred slices of beef and dropping them onto Norihisa’s plate. “All yours.”

“I’ll kill you if it’s burnt,” Norihisa warns, but he doesn’t have to worry.

Sakyo tells him once that it’s the company that matters, bumping their shoulders together and spilling his sake all over the floor. Norihisa saw no reason to disagree then. His opinion remains unchanged.

 

-

 

If he had to extrapolate on Murayama’s feelings, Norihisa could probably do it. He’d felt a kinship with Oya High’s leader from the first time they’d met; he’d recognised the wild spark in Murayama’s eyes and the restrained agitation in his gait. He overhears Murayama yelling at Cobra once – _I still don’t understand what’s different between us_ – in the same tone that he’d screamed into his cell.

_What was I lacking?_

They’ve both been knocked down hard a couple of times. Norihisa punches the ground and Murayama smacks himself on the cheek, and then they challenge life to wreck them more than they’ve ruined themselves. Then, after, they get up – as many times as it takes.

Murayama takes him the long way home, stopping when they’ve finally sequestered themselves in an abandoned alley far from the eyes of any wandering passers-by.

“Hey, Hyuga-chan.”

Norihisa doesn’t give him an answer, and Murayama doesn’t wait for one. Instead, he whirls around and closes in, seizing the collar of Norihisa’s jacket. The tension is back in his arms, muscles coiled tight under his skin, and the smile he wears is the one he shows his opponents when he’s rushing into a fight.

Even so, he hesitates for a few seconds in that position, dark eyes searching Norihisa’s face for a sign of resistance. He seems surprised to find none.

“If I win,” he starts, but Norihisa merely tilts his head, baring his throat in surrender. If he strains his ears he can hear drums beating in the distance, voices clamouring in his ears.

Murayama snarls, running his free hand through his hair. He slams Norihisa against the wall, pressing their lips together hard enough to bruise, knocking their teeth together clumsily. He holds him there, draining the air from their lungs, until Norihisa slaps him back, and then he pounces again, digging his nails into the nape of Norihisa’s neck. When he does finally draw back for good, he looks lost.

“You’re always like this,” Norihisa says, amused. “Not used to getting what you want?”

Murayama shakes his head, but he yields easily when Norihisa tugs him back in. “Not this easily,” he murmurs, when they’re a hair’s breadth apart. Then they’re entangled again, and Norihisa stops counting outcomes.

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t understand the plot of this movie series but i can’t stop watching it


End file.
